


"I look like Gilbert Blythe"

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Twitch City
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-21
Updated: 2008-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-25 03:55:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1630175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Curtis and Hope explore new territory, with a little help from Newbie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"I look like Gilbert Blythe"

**Author's Note:**

> Written for llassah

 

 

"Curtis," said Hope. "I have something to tell you." 

"Mm-hm," said Curtis. He didn't look away from the tv set. 

" _And the Leafs lose 5-1 to the Montreal Canadiens, making this their seventh straight loss in a row,_ " said the tv. 

"It's something important," Hope said hesitantly. "Not _bad_ important. In fact, it's very exciting, I think." 

" _Cottenelle is puppy soft!_ " exclaimed the tv, as fuzzy, floppy puppies gambolled after bouncing rolls of white toilet paper. 

"Yes," said Curtis distractedly. 

"Curtis, I really need you to pay attention for a minute," said Hope. "Can you stop channel-surfing and listen to me?" 

" _My next guest is one you all know and love,_ " said Oprah, before Curtis hit the mute button. 

He turned around and refocused on Hope, sitting next to him on the old beige patterned sofa. "Okay." 

Now that she had his attention, Hope found it hard to continue. She took a moment to smooth her neat hair behind her ears with both hands before looking up. 

"Curtis, how do you feel about children?" 

"Children." Curtis looked blank. 

"Yes," said Hope. "Kids. And... babies." 

"They're fine," said Curtis warily. 

"Well," said Hope brightly. "What do you feel about us having children? We've been together for two years. Have you ever thought about that?" 

There was an extended time of silence where Hope gazed at Curtis with wide eyes. The TV flickered in the background. 

"...No," Curtis said blankly. 

"Oh," said Hope, looking at her lap. 

"Was that all?" Curtis pointed the remote. 

"No. Wait!" Hope grabbed his wrist. She didn't try to take the remote away, but she clasped his hand in both of hers and took a deep breath. "Curtis," she said meaningfully. "I'm pregnant." 

Curtis failed to react in any way at all. "Oh," he eventually said. 

"Yes," said Hope encouragingly. She waited: expectant. 

There was a long pause. "Are you sure?" he said. "Because sometimes women think they're pregnant, but it turns out to be chronic indigestion. There was an episode on Rex Reilly." 

Hope dropped his hand, looking mildly outraged. "Curtis!" she said. "I don't have chronic indigestion! Of course I'm sure!" 

"All right," said Curtis, conceeding the point. If she was pregnant, it could be dangerous to argue with her. Pregnant women had all those hormones that made them irrational. "Is that all?" _Jonovision_ was on in two minutes. 

"No! That's not all!" Hope said. "We need to talk about us. About our life, and the changes there will be if we have a baby together." 

"What changes?" said Curtis warily. 

"Like: where will the baby live? We'd need to set up a baby room. And: which one of us would look after...him or her...during the day?" Hope looked brighter contemplating the baby as a person-to-be: boy or girl. "Usually it's the mother, but I go out to work, and you stay in, so maybe we could do things differently. And names! What would you want to call the baby?" Hope loved possibilities. Her excitement was infectious, but Curtis resisted mightily. 

"What do you mean a 'baby room,'" he said. That sounded ominous. 

"Well, the baby will need a room to stay in, and there's not enough room in ours for a crib and a changing station-" 

"No," said Curtis, in faint horror. 

"-so I thought that we could convert the _other_ room into a baby room!" said Hope brightly. 

"But the baby doesn't pay any rent," said Curtis, pointing out how impossible this scheme was in his most reasonable voice. 

Hope looked betrayed. "Curtis!" she said. "Of course the baby doesn't pay rent. It's our job to take care of it! That's what parents do." 

"Maybe we shouldn't be parents then," said Curtis, trying not to look too obviously towards the television. He was missing _Jonovision._

Hope looked utterly wounded. "Do you really mean that?" 

"Um," said Curtis, purposefully vague. It sounded like a trick question. He fiddled with the remote. 

"I'm going out," said Hope, glaring. She put on her shoes and her plaid coat, grabbed her shoulder bag and left. Curtis could hear her clomping down the stairs and the outer door to the apartment closing. 

" _Who's better than Bad Boy? Nooooo-body!_ " squawked the television. 

* * *

Hope and Curtis lived in an apartment in Kensington Market, in the city of Toronto. They were directly above a cut-rate clothing store and next to the Ace Pizza. 

The apartment was dingy. The paint wasn't new and the appliances were probably more than fifty years old. It wasn't a neat apartment, and it didn't get a lot of natural light during the day. There was a kitchen, a bathroom, a living room, and two bedrooms. If you counted rooms by their occupants rather than their intended function, then the converted closet and the attic were bedrooms too. The nerve centre of the apartment was the tv. 

Hope was tall and pretty, with a pale oval face, auburn hair and sweet eyes. She was an eternal optimist who knew from having been told many times that she was an ineffectual person. Curtis was medium in height, with a slight build, olive skin and good cheekbones. His eyes were spaced a little too closely together, giving him a slightly shifty look, but despite his generally malnourished appearance, he was surprisingly attractive. He hid many things behind a serious tv addiction. Hope and Curtis lived in their apartment with Lucky the cat and a revolving door of roommates in the second bedroom. Renting out the second room (and sometimes a third and a fourth) was Curtis' sole source of income. Hope floated between low-paying jobs in search of something fulfilling. 

Newbie worked down the street at the convenience store. He had gone to university with Curtis. He wandered in jittering and jangling like a shiny new penny that was rolling down a stairwell. He had bleached blond hair that stuck up in spikes, bright blue eyes, chapped lips and wiry arms. "I brought you some of that, ah, cat food stuff," he said, dumping a box of cans on the kitchen table. "The, ah, labels are off because they're returns, but they're still good for a week." Curtis didn't look up from the tv. 

"Oh, is it the one about the polar bears?" said Newbie. "I like the reporter." He sat down next to Curtis on the sofa with his coat and scarf still on, promptly engrossed. 

" _This morning a polar bear rampaged through Whitehorse, cleaning out the red meat section of the local Loblaws, and not stopping to pay at the newly installed automated-purchasing counter on the way out,_ " said the tv self-importantly. " _This is the third robbery of its kind in the past two weeks. Is this bear voicing the frustration of consumers with the increasing lack of human interaction in modern service, or was the Tim Horton's just not open?_ " 

"Slow week again at the CBC, eh?" grinned Newbie. 

"Yep," smirked Curtis. 

The latest roommate wandered past in an aggressive silence, heading out of the apartment. He was wearing a black cape with a hood and combat boots, and he had a lot of silver piercings underneath the hood. 

"What's with him?" said Newbie, when he was gone. 

"He worships Satan, or something," said Curtis. 

"Oh." Newbie considered this for a moment, and then dismissed it; unconcerned. 

" _Don't miss the heartwarming new family drama from CBC: 'Pit Pony!' Sunday nights at eight,_ " urged the tv. 

"Where's Hope?" said Newbie. 

"Out," said Curtis. 

"Again? She asked me for some of that, ah, shampoo she likes, the last time I saw her, but it's not in stock anymore." 

" _-lightly sautée the garlic in a red-wine sauce and add just a touch of fennel,_ " intoned the tv, accompanied by sizzling noises. 

"Hope's pregnant," said Curtis. 

"Really?" said Newbie, sitting up on the sofa. "Wow. Wow! That's, that's huge!" Newbie's knees and elbows tended to be a little more enthusiastic than the rest of him, and Curtis leaned back out of the way without interrupting the rhythm of his channel-flipping. 

" _He's a ghost. And he writes to us. I know! Let's call him 'Ghostwriter!'_ " said one super-enthusiastic kid to several others. 

"Yes," said Curtis. 

* * *

"Curtis," said Hope a couple of weeks later, taking off her hat and mittens and stamping the snow off her boots, "Why is the 'For Rent' sign hanging in our window?" 

"Hm," said Curtis non-committally. He was intent on the tv. 

" _We are LIVE at the Much Music studio with your host George Stroumboulopoulos, and special guest Sloan!_ " announced the tv, to much applause. 

"What happened to Seth?" Hope continued, hanging up her coat and scarf, and coming into the room. 

"Who?" said Curtis. 

"You know," said Hope. "The Satanist." She bent down to pet Lucky the cat. 

"Oh," said Curtis. "He left." 

" _-and the SARS outbreak has reached its third week here in Toronto, with dozens of patients in critical condition in four local hospitals, and hundreds more suspected to have been exposed to the deadly disease,_ " said the tv somberly. 

"Left?" Hope was dismayed. "Why did he leave? He was such a nice tenant: so quiet and neat." 

Curtis' answer was disinterested and neutral. "He said something about this living space being too hetero-normative for him now that we were having a baby." 

"Oh," said Hope slowly, rather hurt. "I didn't know that Satanists were so particular about their neighbours." 

" _Les Canadiens ont gagné 3-1 contre les Leafs hier soir à la Centre Molson,_ " reported the tv smugly. 

"What about the sign you put up?" said Hope. "We talked about a room for the baby. If Seth has moved out, then maybe this is the right time to start keeping the room for ourselves. You know," she said, gaining enthusiasm, "I walked past a store with the most beautiful wooden cribs today. They were hand-made! What do you think, Curtis?" 

"Hm," Curtis said, focused on the tv. 

"It's just... you don't seem to like the idea of the room very much," Hope said tentatively. She crossed her arms over her chest, her hands cupping the elbows of her bulky knit cardigan. "I want you to be open with me, Curtis. If you don't like something, then we should talk about it." 

Curtis looked up from the tv. "Well," he said, and stopped. 

"Yes?" Hope encouraged. 

"If we're being honest," he said promptly, "then, no. I don't like the idea of not renting out the room. I've always rented it out; and since you're between jobs at the moment, it's how we pay the rent. If you want a baby room, there's always your old room." 

Hope glared. "You mean the closet," she said with something like hatred. "Our baby is not going to live in a _closet_." 

"Why not?" said Curtis reasonably. "Babies are small people. They don't need as much space as a person our age. A small bedroom would be a better fit for a baby, don't you think?" 

Hope's mouth opened and closed a few times before she found the right words. "No!" she said. "I can't believe that you would even suggest such a thing! And you deliberately went behind my back when you knew I didn't want to you rent out the room!" Hope looked at Curtis narrowly and was furious enough to say what she had been trying hard to deny. "I don't think you want this baby at all. I'm leaving, Curtis. I'm going to my parents'." Eyes betrayed and disappointed, she walked out of the room. 

Curtis watched her huddled back retreating for a long moment, surprised, before turning back to the screen. 

" _Smooth and golden. Icy cold. This is your beer. Labatt's,_ " enticed the tv in a molten male drawl. 

Hope left Curtis the next morning. After a night of lying sleepless and silent next to Curtis in bed, she packed as much as she could fit into three bags and got into a taxi. It wasn't the first time this had happened, but it would be the first time that she didn't come immediately back. 

* * *

Curtis woke up when his alarm went off at 7 AM. He got up. 

Today was going to be a busy day. Sometimes those were necessary. 

Curtis had barely finished cleaning away the remnants of the Satanist's tenancy when the buzzer started. 

BZZZZZZZT. BZZZZZZZZT. 

"Coming!" yelled Curtis. He opened the door to a university student with tattered jeans and a beard. 

"Got a room for rent?" said the student. 

Curtis didn't rent the room to the student, or the next three people to show up, but by the end of the day, he'd rented it for $700 a month to a flight attendant called Barbie. 

"Don't bother with the Ken jokes," she said in a bored voice. She had sleek blonde hair, and she wore tight jeans with heels. "I've heard them all before." She worked the Hong Kong run, and she cut Curtis off when he started to babble. "My schedule is crazy. I'll be here for two weeks at a time, and then gone for two weeks, so don't be worried if you don't see me." 

Curtis thought about it for a minute. "I'll need a copy of your flight schedule," he said. "For maintenance reasons," he added, when she gave him a hard stare. 

He also rented out the bedroom that at one time was a closet for $280 a month to an Albanian male model who was probably working in Toronto illegally. And he rented the attic for $325 a month to a performance artist named Escher, who thought the space was 'unconventional' and would add to her creativity. 

Looking at the dates of Barbie's flights for the next three months, Curtis picked up the phone to call an art student he knew who was looking for studio space at a reasonable rate, when something caught his eye. He went over to the window. A man across the street was muscling a wooden crib over to the side of the road for garbage pick-up. 

"Hey!" called Curtis. "Yes, you. What's wrong with that crib?" 

"There's nothing wrong with it," the man shouted. He was wearing an undershirt despite the cold, and had elaborate tattoos twining up both of his forearms. "We're moving and we don't need it anymore. You want it?" 

"How much?" said Curtis. 

"A hundred bucks." 

"I doubt you paid that for it," said Curtis. "Fifty bucks." 

"Take your fifty bucks and buy your own crib. You'll see how far that gets you," said the man, unimpressed. 

"Seventy, cash," said Curtis. "And you bring it up here for me." 

"Fine," said the man, and picked up the crib, muttering. 

Curtis met him at the door. "Right up these stairs and to the right," he said. "You can put it in corner of the room with the tv." There was certainly no space in Curtis' room for a crib. 

Curtis paid up, and inspected the crib while the man counted his cash. The crib was a nice one; solid hardwood and in good shape. 

"Is the baby yours, pal?" said the man, looking critically around. 

"Yes," said Curtis. 

"It looks like you've got some work to do." 

"Yes, right," said Curtis in the way that meant 'You can leave now.' He dialed the art student, the tv flickering in the background. 

* * *

"The dear story!" said the little girl with brown pigtails urgently. 

"Which one is that?" Hope smiled at her. Hope had a new job as an assistant librarian at the Lillian H. Smith library, and it was her first time doing story hour. She wanted to do a good job and make the kids smile. 

"It's the same one she always wants," said her older brother grumpily. He was wearing a t-shirt with a fire-truck on it. "The one with the dumb deer and the singing animals. It's sitting right there," he pointed. 

" _Oh!_ " said Hope. "A _deer!_. Of course I'll read that to you," she told the little girl, "and then your brother can pick one that _he'd_ like to hear. And let's all try to remember that 'dumb' is not a nice word to call things." 

"Whatever," said the brother. 

Hope ended up crying in the staff room while Margaret Wu patted her shoulder from time to time. 

"I had no idea that _Bambi_ was such a violent story," Hope sobbed. "I hope I didn't upset the children too badly. I'm so sorry Mrs. Wu; I'm not normally like this. It's just that they shot Bambi's mother, and his father wasn't around; and the poor little fawn had no one to look after him but the birds and rabbits." 

"There, there dear." The elderly librarian's eyes were kind behind her youthfully trendy black plastic frames. "How about I make you a nice cup of tea, and then we'll put you to work on some shelving. I find it very soothing." 

"Okay," said Hope tearfully. 

* * *

Escher the performance artist stepped in the tv room. "Curtis!" 

Curtis looked up. 

"You've seen that show already; don't try to pretend you haven't," she teased, with an easy toss of her bushy black curls. She had long, dramatic eyebrows and a strong jaw. "I'm on to you! I watched it with you yesterday. What do you say we spend some more... personal time together?" She had a hand on the hip of her faded jeans. Her scarf today was wild purples, greens and reds. 

Curtis' attitude towards sex had always been extremely unprejudiced. Other people might call it extremely opportunistic. That was why he blamed his answer on Lucky the cat, who was silently judging him from underneath the crib. 

"Escher, I'm afraid there's some bad news," he said. 

"Oh," said Escher, her brows drawing together. 

"There's been asbestos discovered in the attic. It's not safe for you to live there any longer." 

Escher frowned. "You're telling me this _now!_ " she said. 

"I'm sorry, I had no idea," Curtis said truthfully. 

* * *

Hope got in late from work. She was six months pregnant, and her lower back and feet were killing her. She kicked off her shoes with a grateful sigh, and walked into the kitchen. Her father and his girlfriend had already eaten dinner, and they were sitting in the living room in front of a large-screen tv. 

"There's leftovers in the fridge, Hope," said Wendy. She was very well-held-together for her age by blonde highlights over an excellent dye-job, careful makeup and cardigans. 

"Thanks," said Hope, taking out a plate and sitting down to eat. 

"How was the restaurant?" said Ted loudly. 

"I don't work at the restaurant anymore, Dad," said Hope. "I'm working as an assistant florist. The restaurant burned down in a fire." 

"Damned carelessness if you ask me," said Ted, round and deaf and confrontational. 

"There was an electrical fire in the kitchen," said Hope wearily. "It was nobody's fault; these things happen." 

"Have you seen Curtis lately?" said Wendy, in a way that was meant to be encouraging, but put Hope's back up. 

"No," said Hope. "I haven't." 

"He's clever young man," said her father. "And he has very good manners. Are the two of you going to work things out?" 

"I don't know!" Hope snapped. She was immediately sorry for losing her temper. They meant well. 

"I'm feeling tired," Hope said, conciliatory. "I think I'll go to bed early." 

"Get a good night's sleep, dear," said Wendy. 

Hope was almost asleep when the phone rang. 

"Hope," she heard her father call. "It's for you." 

Curled up in bed, Hope picked up the phone. "Hello," she said without much enthusiasm. 

"Hi Hope." It was Curtis. Hope took a deep breath and let it out. 

"Hi." 

"Don't you think you're taking this a bit too far?" said Curtis. His voice sounded flat through the phone. 

Hope didn't trust herself to say anything. 

"It's been over two months," Curtis said. "Why don't we meet and talk," he said enticingly. 

"Just to talk?" said Hope. 

"Of course, if that's what you want," said Curtis. 

"Meet where?" said Hope, a little bitterly. 

"At the apartment, of course," said Curtis. "I've made some improvements since you've been gone that I think you'll like. There's a crib," he specified. 

Hope's lips bunched up unhappily. "Curtis," she said. "I can't." They both knew that if she went back, Curtis would talk her into staying. He was counting on it. 

"Why not?" said Curtis. 

"If you want to meet and talk, let's do it here; or somewhere downtown. Anywhere that's not the apartment," she said. 

"You don't really mean that, do you?" said Curtis. 

"Yes, I do," said Hope. 

Curtis didn't say anything. 

"It was fine when it was just you and me," Hope said. "But now there's the baby to think about. I love you, Curtis. But it's not enough. I want more for our baby." 

"What do you mean, 'more,'" Curtis asked warily. 

"You'll miss so much, if you don't go outside," Hope said. "Walking the baby to school; teaching him or her to ride a bike. School plays. Trips to Centre Island and the ROM. And what if something happens to me? Who would take care of the baby then?" 

Curtis was quiet. Hope could practically hear him thinking of and rejecting different things to say to her, to change her mind. 

"I miss you," he said finally. 

"Goodnight, Curtis," said Hope. She quietly hung up the phone. 

She didn't feel like sleeping anymore. 

* * *

The hypnotist was Newbie's idea. 

"I don't usually make house calls," said the hypnotist, who went by the name of Sullivan, "but your case sounded very intriguing." He raked his shoulder-length black hair out of his gaunt face. His pale, long-fingered hand was adorned with a large ruby ring. 

"Well, I'm sure you must see many cases with some passing similarities to mine," said Curtis archly, and decided not to ask for credentials after all in order to lower the price. He loved to be flattered. 

"Are you seeking treatment for your addiction to television or for your agoraphobia?" asked the hypnotist. 

"The second one only," said Curtis, a little horrified. There was nothing wrong with watching tv. The mute television flickered reassuringly at him across the room. 

"Very well," said the hypnotist gravely. "Have a seat." He pulled an antique pocketwatch out of his red corduroy jacket. It was gold and very shiny. He dangled it from a long, thin chain in front of Curtis' face, back and forth, back and forth; and as Curtis tracked it with his eyes, the hypnotist began to count backwards. 

When Curtis came back to himself, the hypnotist was looking a little discomfited and Newbie curious. 

"What happened?" Curtis said. 

"Nothing," said Newbie. 

"I tried to get you to go outside while under my influence," the hypnotist said, "but you kept saying that Rex Reilly was on. I'm afraid this may take longer than I originally thought." 

"You're, like, resistant to the power of suggestion," Newbie said, fascinated. 

"I thought you said this guy had cured tons of people," Curtis accused him. 

"Of smoking," said the hypnotist. "This is new to me. We can keep trying. The smoking doesn't always take on the first try either, although I get good results in the end." 

"You did say I had a very rare condition," Curtis allowed. 

But the hypnotism had no effect on Curtis' ability to go outside after the second or third times either. The only difference Curtis noticed was a massive craving for hard-boiled eggs. And the Albanian model made the sign against the evil eye every time he had to pass by the hypnotist. 

There wasn't a fourth time. Curtis didn't waste his money on fakes. 

* * *

Hope sat down rather heavily on the wooden bench in the main hall of Union Station. Commuters rushed past in steady streams. She wasn't feeling very well. She wondered for the umpteenth time if she was doing the right thing. 

She had been riding the subway when she'd started to feel lightheaded and a little dizzy. The crush of people in the hot and stuffy car had suddenly been oppressive. She'd gotten off at the next stop and carefully walked up the stairs. She was eight months pregnant and the last doctor's check-up had gone well. Everything was fine. She shouldn't have skipped breakfast on the way to work this morning; that was all. Hope took a few deep breaths. 

"Hello." 

"Hi." Hope looked up. There was a clown standing in front of her. 

"Nice day, isn't it?" said the clown chattily, sitting down on her bench. 

He was an elderly clown with a thick body and wiry grey curls. He wore a green velvet suit with big brass buttons and scuffed brown shoes. He had white face paint and thick black eye-makeup, and he was carrying a waist-pack full of balloons. 

Hope didn't feel like making conversation, but it wasn't in her to be rude to a stranger. "Yes," she agreed. And then, since she was curious, "Are you working right now?" 

"Steam-era festival," the clown said. "It's set up over in the next room, but things are pretty quiet right now." 

"Oh," said Hope. "I didn't know there was a festival on." She didn't see any small children nearby that might require the clown to go do his job, and he showed no signs of leaving. Around them the commuter horde was its usual non-communicative self. People were keeping their bodies and belongings in their little personal bubbles of space, and avoiding eye-contact like it could transmit a nasty infectious disease. 

"Would you like a job?" the clown said. 

"I'm sorry?" said Hope, bemused. 

The clown reached into his waist-pack and drew out a business card. He handed it to Hope. It said in a plain black and white script: 

**JOHN A. HUGHES  
** Professional clown, balloon-shaper and mentalist  
(416) 529-6337 

"Mentalist?" said Hope. 

"I like to diversify," said the clown. "It's good for business. It's a talent, you see? I can always tell about people, and right now my talent is telling me about you." 

"What does it say about me?" said Hope, humouring him. 

"That you're a good person; a capable person. I think you'd be a big help. I have a lot of business right now, and I could use someone in the office to take calls and organize my schedule. What do you say?" said the clown. He looked at Hope with an affable, slightly seedy air. 

Hope looked at the card. "Thank you, but I already have a job." She smiled politely. She wondered why these things always happened to her, but she was more amused than annoyed. 

"Are you sure?" said the clown. 

"I'm sure," said Hope. 

"Well, keep the card in case you change your mind," said the clown. "Would you like a balloon?" 

Hope smiled for real this time. Her light-headedness was mostly gone and she was starting to feel better. "I would love a balloon." 

The clown was really talented at making balloon animals. He took a single yellow balloon from his pack and blew air inside it, and then twisted and turned and knotted it so many times that Hope lost track of what he had done. Hope thought that the balloon would have to break, but it never did. She was very impressed when the clown handed her a yellow sausage dog, with a long body and little legs. 

"Thank you," she said, charmed. 

Hope looked at it more closely. There was a little round balloon inside the one she was holding, completely separate from the balloon dog. How on earth had he done that? Hope looked up at the clown in outrage. "This dog is pregnant!" she accused. 

The clown grinned at her good-humouredly. "I'd better get back to work. Call me if you change your mind about the job." He got up and moved off into the crowd, while Hope stared after him. 

She shook the balloon dog experimentally and the baby dog rattled around inside. Hope started to laugh. 

* * *

"She won't come back," said Curtis, slumped on the sofa. 

"I know, man," said Newbie, sprawled out on the carpet. 

"I tried," said Curtis, "but she's being unreasonable. She knows I don't go outside." They were halfway down a bottle of Russian vodka; a gift from a previous tenant who had forgotten it in the back of one of the kitchen cabinets. It was dark outside and the inside of the apartment was lit mostly by the tv screen. 

The tv continued on obnoxiously with its foreign lyrics and bad pseudo-punk rock, while Slavic-looking people writhed half-naked on the screen; some of them with guitars. There were no subtitles. 

"The multicultural channel is bad tonight." Newbie suddenly half-started up off the floor and nearly spilled his vodka out of the beer mug he was drinking from. "Band-aids!" 

"What?" said Curtis blearily. He was drinking straight from the bottle. 

"That's the answer!" Newbie gestured with his vodka mug proudly. 

"I don't see how," said Curtis repressively. 

Newbie sat up straight, eyes shining with earnestness, or devilry, or both. "You've been trying all this slow, careful stuff to, ah, get yourself outside, and it's not working. Maybe what you need is to say 'to hell with the process' and just do it. Like a band-aid. Get it over with all at once. R-iiiip." Newbie mimed tearing a band-aid off his knee with a mostly coordinated thumb and forefinger. 

"That sounds very bloody," said Curtis warily. 

"You want Hope back, don't you?" said Newbie. "Give it a try. It's like, ah, re-birth. Shuck off the old Curtis, and it hurts like crazy for a bit; but you find the new Curtis underneath. I've got an idea," he said, grinning whitely. 

It was all very well for Craig, thought Curtis irritably, glaring at his companion. He was a romantic. He had majored in philosophy at the University of Toronto and minored in Canadian history. He liked movies, for god's sake. Curtis was a realist. He had a half-finished degree in French, because that had been the program with the biggest disparity in numbers between the genders which had favoured the female sex, and Curtis had wanted an easy way to meet girls. Curtis' great passion was reality television. 

"Fine," Curtis said grudgingly. "After this episode." He hit the play button on the remote for the VCR and took a sullen swig from the bottle of vodka. 

" _My guests today all have certain things in common,_ " spoke well-known reality show host Rex Reilly in a way that was both mockably serious and deeply mocking. He stared intensely into the camera, holding his microphone in both hands. He was wearing a suit and his hair was awful. 

" _These five young men share wholesome, apple-cheeked, black-haired good looks; a penchant for rambunctious red-heads; and an inexplicable obsession with Canada's smallest province._ " The talk-show host managed to make this innocent enough introduction sound salacious and perverse. " _My guests today all think that they... look like Gilbert Blythe,_ " he accused. There was a dramatic pan-out to the five young men in question. Three of them were young men; one was a man, but not young; and the one wearing navy-blue sequins and three-inch platform heels appeared to be neither young nor a man. 

Curtis and Newbie watched avidly. 

"This is the stuff," Curtis said reverently. 

"Yeah," said Newbie. 

* * *

Curtis woke up naked on a park bench. It was July in Toronto and hot, so Curtis wasn't unpleasantly cold; but he was stiff, the wooden slats of the bench were digging into his shoulders, backside and legs, and he had a miserable headache. 

Curtis groaned and shaded his eyes with his hand, squinting up into the sun. The light was hurting his eyes. He blinked a few times, and then gasped for air horribly as he tried to scream and choked instead. He was looking up into the beady eyes of a huge, mangy black squirrel that was sitting on the back of his bench, staring down at him. 

Was it rabid? Why was it staring at him? Squirrels were supposed to be afraid of people. Curtis held very still so as not to provoke the squirrel into savaging him. The creature looked at him with evil eyes, and, with a languid flick of its tail, jumped off the bench and ran up a tree. 

Curtis breathed a sigh of relief. Holding his aching head, he painfully pulled himself into a sitting position. 

Newbie was sitting on the next bench over, his elbows resting on the top of the bench by his sides. He was naked too. 

"Nice day, isn't it?" said Newbie, his face turned up towards the sun. 

"It's tolerable," said Curtis. There was a rather nice breeze. Then he made the mistake of taking a look around. 

They were in the middle of Queen's Park and the sun was new in the sky. Cars were already starting to circle the park, and apart from a few large trees, there was only wide-open space, wide-open sky, and the surrounding buildings, the last of which Curtis was _not inside_. 

That was why when the policemen strolled up, carrying their morning coffees, Curtis was hyperventilating into a greasy brown paper bag that Newbie was holding for him. Newbie had dug it out of a nearby trash can. 

"Where are your clothes, gentlemen?" said the bigger, older cop. His expression said he'd seen it all before and then some. 

"Most of them are between Bathurst and Spadina," said Newbie helpfully, holding the bag while Curtis wheezed, "although a few of them made it to, ah, St. Mike's. You know, this isn't what it probably looks like." 

"Right," said the cop, deeply sarcastic. He sipped his coffee. 

"You'll have to come to the station with us," said his younger, curly-haired partner. 

* * *

"Are you sure you're going to be all right, dear?" said Wendy. 

"I'll be fine," Hope said firmly. "I'm not due for another week. Go enjoy your weekend at the cottage." 

"You're a good girl, Hope," said Ted. "You call if you need us. I've left you my credit card in the desk drawer. If anything at all comes up, you use it." 

"Thanks Dad," said Hope, "but I'm not going to need it. I'll be right here." She gave him a hug. "Have fun." 

"We will," said Ted gruffly. 

"Bye, dear," said Wendy. Ted picked up the bags, and they left. 

Hope was hungry. She went to the kitchen to make a bagel and cream cheese. She sat down to eat with her book on how to care for a newborn, and the phone rang. 

Hope sighed and levered herself back out of the chair. It wasn't easy. She was so big now that everything was awkward. Her loose flowered maternity top was stretched over her belly. 

"Hello?" she said. 

"Hello." 

"Who is it?" Hope said. 

"Hope?" 

" _Curtis?_ " 

"Yes, it's me," said Curtis. He sounded faint through the phone. 

"Why are you calling?" said Hope, clutching the phone tightly. She thought she sounded calm. 

"Hope," said Curtis. "I need to ask you a favour." 

"Oh," Hope said in a neutral voice. 

"Can you come get me out of jail?" 

" _Jail!_ " said Hope, appalled. "Oh my God! You didn't kill someone, did you Curtis?" she pleaded. 

It was a valid question. Hope's boyfriend before Curtis had gone to jail for murdering a homeless man with a bag of catfood cans in a fit of rage. 

"No," said Curtis. "It was merely an incident involving ill-advised drunken behaviour and some public nudity... _Outside,_ you know," he added modestly. 

"Oh, Curtis!" said Hope. " _Really?_ " 

"Yes," said Curtis. 

"I'll be right there!" said Hope. "Don't go anywhere!" She hung up the phone in a high state of excitement. 

Hope called a cab, grabbed her shoes and purse, and rushed out the door as fast as she could. 

The door opened again almost immediately. Hope rushed back in, grabbed the credit card from the desk drawer, and rushed out. 

* * *

It could have been really awkward, seeing Curtis again after so many months apart. But by the time Hope had posted bail at the Dundas Street police station for Curtis and Newbie, they had been released, and her water had broken, none of them had any time to stand around trying to think of things to say. 

"Get a cab!" yelled Curtis, his hair standing on end. Someone had found him a plain white police shirt to wear, and the tails were hanging untucked over a pair of blue-green scrub-like pants. Newbie had on a pair of pink Hawaiian shorts and a green vest, but no shirt. They both had been given flip-flops. 

Newbie ducked out the door, while Curtis held Hope's arm and looked paler than she did. 

"Are you all right?" he said. 

"I'm _fine_ , Curtis," she said. "The baby's a week ahead of schedule, that's all." She walked determinedly out the door with Curtis hovering. Newbie had found a cab outside, and was shouting excitedly at the driver and waving his arms. 

"Get in!" Newbie told them with a wild grin. "Ramon will take us there!" 

Hope and Curtis fit themselves into the back of the cab, while Newbie climbed in the front. 

"Which hospital?" said Ramon. 

"Sunnybrook Women's, please," said Hope. Curtis did his best not to panic. He was outdoors again. 

"You got it," Ramon said. 

Ramon was middle-aged and musically-inclined. At the first red light, he pulled a tambourine out from underneath his seat. "You like Christmas carols?" he said. He shook the tambourine back and forth and started to sing tunelessly: 

_Jingle bells, jingle bells  
Jingle all the way_

Taking corners and changing lanes one-handed, Ramon's driving was a little shaky. Newbie joined the second chorus of 'Jingle bells' with enthusiasm. 

"Could you put down the tambourine," said Curtis in his most desperate monotone. 

"BOTH HANDS ON THE WHEEL!" shrieked Hope. There was instant silence. 

They made it to the hospital without mishap, and rushed into the packed emergency room. Then everything slowed down, and Hope spent the next eight hours in labour. Curtis fainted twice. When he woke up for the second time, the worst was over. Hope was being fussed over by a nurse and a doctor, while another nurse held a tiny, red-faced, wailing baby. 

"Would you like to hold her?" the nurse said briskly, and handed Curtis his daughter. 

"Um," said Curtis. She was so small and so angry: eyes screwed shut and mouth open. 

"I don't think she likes me," he said warily. 

"She's just hungry," the nurse said. "Why don't you take her to your wife." 

Curtis didn't bother to correct her. He walked over to Hope. 

"Oh, Curtis, she's _beautiful!_ " Hope said rapturously. 

The nurse was right. After she'd been fed, the baby settled down. It was actually kind of peaceful watching her sleep in Hope's arms. Newbie had brought flowers and a stuffed koala bear, and had left to go work his shift. Curtis was alone with Hope and the baby. 

"I don't have a name for her," Hope said. "I had a boy's name picked out, but I couldn't choose a favourite for a girl." 

"What about Ruth," said Curtis. It was his mother's name. 

Hope thought about it, looking at the baby. "I like it," she smiled. Her smile faded slowly. "Curtis, I really missed you." Her voice was a little wobbly. 

"I... missed you too," he said hesitantly. There was an awkward silence. 

Curtis knew he should say something. He'd been thinking for the last six months about what he would say to get Hope back when they met face to face. This was how they did things. Curtis was selfish, and he pushed Hope too far. Then she left and Curtis made some grand gesture to get her back. 

But now that the moment was here, Curtis found he actually meant the words that he knew would get Hope back, and for some reason that made them nearly impossible to say. 

"Curtis?" said Hope, watching him. "I know we've both made some mistakes, but I think" 

"Will you come home with me?" Curtis cut her off. 

Hope smiled at him, as warm and bright as the sun. 

"Yes," she said. 

 


End file.
